


Love is a Temple, Love the Higher Law.

by RavyOliSykes



Category: gaspard ulliel - Fandom, louis garrel - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 13:03:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12607256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavyOliSykes/pseuds/RavyOliSykes
Summary: It’s the 23rd December 1965, Gaspard and Louis are in their rooms, finishing some writing works.New York is very cold in the winter, but the students of the Columbia University really enjoy to stay there during their Christmas holidays.





	Love is a Temple, Love the Higher Law.

It’s the 23rd December 1965, Gaspard and Louis are in their rooms, finishing some writing works.  
New York is very cold in the winter, but the students of the Columbia University really enjoy to stay there during their Christmas holidays.  
There’s always a cup of tea or coffee on their desks and the writing machine never stops. Jazz music on background and the atmosphere is more relaxed when we see little lights opening all around the building.

What about these two? Well, they met during High School years, then decided to continue studies together.  
At that time there were teachers like Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs and they usually made students write some poetry: they could be inspired by everything they wanted, even their roommate.  
In this case, Gaspard and Louis aren’t roommates, just bestfriends. Their mates, François e Antoine, think that this isn’t just a friendship: there is something else, something strange and unusual for these years.

By the way, it’s evening and some students are leaving the University to go back home to their families, while these guys and a friend of them, Niels, are thinking about what to do and where to go.  
Maybe the Museum of Natural History isn’t open now, but there are many pubs open from 8:00 p.m. to late night, even during festivities on West Side Avenue.  
Antoine is so excited: he loves Christmas time and cinnamon smell in every street, music that reminds him his childhood with his brothers in Boston.

Meanwhile, they arrived at a pub called “Little Temple”: dark and woody walls are decorated with black and white photos, on the roof scattered mistletoes and on the floor, near the tables, little Christmas trees.  
The place is quiet dark, on each table there is a red candle, then only the stage is more illuminated; if they’re lucky, there will be a performance tonight.  
It’s 9:00 p.m., the pub is fully crowded, fortunately they’re already sit on a table in the corner, near the stage.  
Gaspard and Louis, sat close to each other, asked for a beer, while François, Antoine and Niels asked for a glass of absence.

The night continues, song after song, beer after beer, laughing and criticizing “the drunk American politics, going on like a dying nazi soldier”.  
They’re more or less the same age, they’re all still bachelors and they like to live without problems or obligations.  
Louis seems more adult than the others, he’s impressively aplomb and reflexive.  
Gaspard loves poetry and, in every situation, mentions a verse from “Le Bateau Ivre”, trying to put something different and original every single time.

Suddenly, between laughs and glass noise, a black mid-aged woman enters the stage, adjusts the mic and starts to sing a particular song, “The Man I Love”.  
Only brief instants and the crowd moves to the centre of the room, dancing slowly.  
Gaspard is looking Louis looking at the woman, her calm and devotion to this song.  
Niels says something unintelligible to François that immediately smiles to Louis and asks Antoine if he wanted to dance with him, just for joke.  
Antoine winks and they run to the dancefloor, at this point already sunk in the alcohol.  
Niels gives them applause, more applause and shouts something like: “Go on! You’re fantastic!”.  
Gaspard feels to be a bit much, puts his coat on and exits the pub, standing in the snow, smoking a cigarette.  
Now he’s alone.  
Louis is inside, finishing the second glass of beer and putting his glasses on: he notices that Gaspard isn’t there, so he goes out and searches for him.  
He’s wearing only a jumper and a scarf, he forgot his coat inside but doesn’t want to enter, just find his friend and save him from a terrible fever.

Gaspard is at the corner of the street, finishing the third cigarette; now it’s 12:30 a.m., Christmas’ Eve.  
He doesn’t notice that his bestfriend is outside, walking straight to him: maybe Louis wants to ask what’s going on, why he’s here, why he gazed at him all night without saying a word, always searching for eye contact.  
Gaspard doesn’t answer to Louis, his sight lost in the dark night.  
Then he turns and looks for a long time the pub illumination, “Little Temple”.  
Louis is now next to him, lighting up his last cigarette before Christmas day, maybe; they can only smoke inside the University in their rooms, with a window open.  
After few seconds, Louis feels that Gaspard is taking his cold hand.  
“You’re strange Lou, I know it since the first time I saw you. All the words you told me, all your thoughts and secrets... All your stupid boyfriends, I always hated each of them...”  
“Gaspard, are you okay?”  
A glance, only one before Gaspard puts his lips on Louis’ for the first time: he had dreamed this moment for years, and now he did it.  
Few seconds later, they separate and Gaspard tries to hide his enormous smile, Louis is a bit disappointed but he doesn’t regret it, in fact laughs at his friends.  
“Do you remember that homework? That poetry work?” Louis nods.  
“I don’t mention Rimbaud this time, but I’ve written something absurd, I thought about us...”  
With a majestic volume and a bit of shyness, he declaims his verses: “My love said/ your eyes/ are beautiful/ and he/ left me.”  
Beat poetry is something crazy and unexpected, like him after all.  
Louis doesn’t know what to say; he’s cold, maybe he’s got fever and the snow doesn’t help.  
He’s on the way to the door of the pub, when the other stops him: he wants to talk about what’s happened few minutes before.  
No words from their mouths, neither stupid or childish jokes, they just smile.  
Louis takes Gaspard’s arm and hugs him, whispering something like: “Now you know, you will not find a way out from me, nor from my head.  
It’s Christmas and we’re still at school, will your pass these days with me?  
We’ll write some poetry, listen to Frank Sinatra and read Russian literature’s classics...”  
“And drink liters of tea, watching the guys playing with the snow outside.”

  
Christmas’ miracle?  
No, simply the naked truth of two bachelors that love each other more than hipsters love drugs, stars love darkness and... all the people love who they want, doesn’t matter sex or prejudices.  
Will there be still conventions in 50 years?  
They don’t think so, but the most important thing is who else will pass a Christmas time like that?


End file.
